


Mad Max

by cedi



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime Fighting, F/F, Fluff, Law Enforcement, Murder, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedi/pseuds/cedi
Summary: When a tragic accident turns into an unsolved murder, everything changes.Chloe, disenchanted by the plodding pace of the investigation into the murder of her father, decided to take matters into her own hands. And so, together with Rachel, she set out into the wide world, sorrow in her heart and vengeance on her mind. Unwittingly setting things into motion that will have consequences far beyond what she, or anyone, could have imagined.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Victoria Chase, Rachel Amber/Chloe Price
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. A Mad Threat

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a story in the Life is Strange universe, as it is one of the main reasons why I even got into writing fanfic in the first place. But so far I felt like my writing just wouldn't do this masterpiece justice. 
> 
> Though, recently I thought I should really give it a try... And so here we are. Enjoy.

“All lines of the FBI’s Los Angeles Violent Crime Tip Line are currently in use. Your call will be forwarded as soon as an agent is free. Thank you for your patience.”

Quiet Jazz music followed in the wake of the announcement. The tootling sounded so absolutely generic it could have been a recording from the big department store down the street. She rolled her eyes, but kept the phone pressed to her ear. She would hate to miss her cue after all the practice and preparation they had put into this.

A moment later the line clicked, and a female voice took the stage, “FBI Tip Line, Agent Méndez speaking. How can I help you?”

She took a last, long, and shallow breath, then started in on her spiel. To set the proper stage for it, she kicked off with a carefully timed bout of crazed giggling. “Well, well, well,” she chortled, her voice disfigured by the app her friend had programmed. “What a tasty pleasure to play this game of emotions with you, Agent Méndez.” She let the words ring out, as she needed a moment to gather her thoughts. An annoyed expression crept on her face; she had practised this a dozen times, and she still struggled with the playbook. Maybe she should have waited a bit longer with the call. However, that would have cut it a bit too close for comfort.

“Prank calling an emergency line is a federal crime.” Méndez said, forcing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. The spoken words held a palpable tang of annoyance to them.

She nodded, good, just as expected. Her fingers tightened around the cheap phone as her resolve hardened. You can do this _,_ she told herself and then quickly followed the script. “That is the least of my crimes,” she said, after a faked, barking laugh. “Which reminds me… I’ve got a riddle to tell, and it’s going to be a blast, so you better listen closely, or everything left is ash.”

Silence filled the line for a breath, then her words rang once more, “What has branches and leaves and no bark?”

“I have no idea, why don’t you tell me?” Agent Méndez said calmly.

“Ehehe, but that would spoil the fun!”

“I don’t think this is very funny.”

“Shame, but still, you better solve my little riddle, or the biggest one of those goes boom by the end of the week. And I know, I know it’s not easy to believe a random stranger on the phone, so to show you how serious I am, let me tell you a little secret. Just between the two of us.” She lowered her voice to a hushed tone. “I’m going to rob the bank on Kent street tomorrow. At 13:31, to be exact. Try and catch me.” She ended her spiel like she had started it, with a bit of crazed giggling. Her finger slid to the end call button. It hovered there for a second until she thought better of it and quickly offered a goodbye. “Bye, bye. Agent.” There was no reason to be rude.

The phone beeped as she ended the call. Her hand slowly dropped to her side. That should do it, she thought. They had to follow up on this. Their website said that they investigated every serious tip, or that they would at least add it to the system. The next time Mad Ma… “Shit!” She shouted as she belatedly realised that she hadn’t told the agent her name. Her right hand reflexively grasped at thin air, twining the strings of fate and time around her fingers.

She pulled, and the world followed. The face of her phone suddenly lit back up and restored a call that had finished mere seconds ago. Max quickly relinquished her hold on time and returned her phone to her ear.

“Uhm…” Shit. Another quick rewind undid her blunder. Sounding convincing was of the utmost importance. She didn’t fancy a repeat of this.

“Since you didn’t ask me earlier… Mad Max is the name, try and remember it. Bye, bye. Agent Méndez.”

She disconnected the call, then sighed. Okay, crisis averted.

The shaking started a minute later, when she moved through the unfamiliar menus in search of the wipe app Warren had installed. Between her rising nerves and the different layout, it took longer than it should have to find the icon with the big red X, but after a long few seconds her finger finally came down on it. A prompt appeared, asking her if she was sure, which she confirmed.

The screen went completely black for a second, then a wall of white text scrolled past. She ignored the letters, trusting that Warren knew what he was doing when he programmed the app.

She had barely enough time to take one, two shuddering breaths before the wall of text blinked out of existence. Max pressed her gloved thumb against the power button and held her breath expectantly.

Nothing happened. She pressed all the other buttons but was also only rewarded by stillness. A smile widened her lips. Just as promised. “Warren, you’re a genius.” Max whispered to herself and turned towards the large bins lining the side alley in stinking rows.

Now there was only one thing left to do, even though she loathed the wastefulness of it. Ambling over to the bins, she turned the cheap phone over in her gloved hands, a deep frown marring her face as she considered all the painstaking work that must have flown into the device. “Such a waste,” Max muttered to herself.

Still though, there was no way around tossing the phone. If they found it on her and somehow managed to trace the call back to it… She shook her head no, she didn’t bear thinking of the consequences. The stark scenarios Warren had painted in gruesome colours were more than enough.

Clouded, blue eyes flitted from one distasteful looking garbage bin to the next, barely able to see the heaps of rotting refuse that propped their lids open behind phantasms of the long, cold hallways of some secretive government black site.

After a few more steps along the line of rank smelling garbage bins the dreadful mirages plaguing her finally shattered when her foot caught on a discarded can. As her foot suddenly vanished from under her she stumbled to the side and barely managed to catch herself on the lid of the tall, green wheelie bin next to her. Something squishy burst under the death grip of her fingers. The sensation of something wet and slimy coupled with the sudden hike in the intensity of the foul stench wafting from the bin made her want to recoil.

However, the stench alone wasn’t enough to dissuade her. The fear of being discovered loitering here was a far stronger motivator than that bit of nastiness clinging to her cheap latex gloves.

If someone saw her, she’d have to rewind, which could be disastrous to the call she made if she wasn’t careful enough. 

“Oh,” Max exclaimed and slapped her forehead. She froze for a moment, wide-eyed, then sighed when she realised that she had used her clean hand and not the one dripping with sewer muck. Ugh. Quickly, she peeled her hand off her sweaty forehead and tapped a few buttons on her smart watch. A time stamp appeared at the top of the screen, marking a safe point she could rewind back to without undoing anything important.

She grinned, that had been another of Warren’s ideas. The clock was synchronized to the internet and always showed the real time, even during a rewind. It made a targeted rewind easy, though, on the downside it also drained her phone’s battery like crazy.

No matter, she shook her head and raised the lid of the garbage bin a bit higher. The stench wafting from it rose another notch in intensity and made her nose wrinkle. Unwilling to expose herself to that for one more second than necessary she quickly lobbed the cheap, stolen phone at the shadow cast back of the bin. It clattered softly as it hit something hard.

Max slammed the lid back on the bin a bit harder than necessary, wiped as much of the disgusting muck off her fingers and hurried down the alley. She kept close to the wall and, once she reached the mouth of the alley, stealthily looked around the corner.

Nothing.

Good, Max nodded to herself. With the coast clear for now, she spent a few long seconds slipping off the gloves and put them into a zip-lock bag. It vanished into one of her trousers’ pockets a moment later. She’d get rid of them somewhere else.

After another quick glance around the corner that revealed nothing more than empty pavement, she straightened out and stepped onto the small side street.

Max walked towards the main street at a brisk pace. After a moment, she slowed back down, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. Then she realised how strange she must be looking, starting, and stopping like that, so she took up the pace once more and raced down the street. That bit would get the rewind treatment.

A few hurried seconds later, Max came to a stumbling halt on the sidewalk and took one, two staggering steps to the side until she could lean against the rough wall of the building next to her. A loud, pained sigh wormed past her lips in the pause between a pair of ragged breaths and she slowly raised her hand.

In an instant the cars racing past her slowed to a crawl, only for their wheels to spin in reverse as they rocketed past her to where they had come from. She turned her left arm until she could make out the dark surface of her watch and scowled at it. Sometimes the damned thing just didn’t want to wake up. She gave her arms a few vigorous shakes and smiled when the face of the clock finally lit up.

A few more seconds and she would be golden.

When she was sure that she had rewound as much as she could, she let the flow of time resume and wearily pushed off the wall. Looking down the unfamiliar street, she shrugged and started her slow trek home, hoping that she still remembered the correct route. Warren warned her not to turn on her own phone too soon or close to where she’d made the call.

After she passed a dozen identical, soulless glass towers Max had to finally admit to herself that she was utterly and completely lost. She rarely had reason to come to this part of the city, as it was a fair distance from both her university and the cramped apartment she shared with Kate. Also, she eyed the few shops interspersed with the shining towers of commerce, she doubted that she had enough money to buy even a sandwich around here let alone a single one of the iridescent dresses that hung in the floor to ceiling windows. Maybe she could afford a single button, that is, if she were willing to empty out her bank account.

She was just about ready to beat her jittery nerves into submission and pull out her phone when her eyes fell on a strangely incongruous building a few lots down the road. Its flowing, inefficient architecture gave her thoughts pause and her fingers twitched, hungering for the comfort of discoloured plastics and the soft resistance of the release. Her hands moved to her side with a mind of their own and felt for the flap of her messenger bag.

They found only yawning emptiness. Her nebulous thoughts came to a sudden, screeching halt and cold sweat broke out on her brow. “Shit, shit, shit!” She chanted under her breath, frantically looking around herself, searching for any hint of where she had left the bag.

A moment later she groaned loudly as she remembered that she had left the bag at home, together with all the other stuff that could be used to identify her in case it slipped from her pockets without her noticing it. She had set out on her trip with only the clothes on her back, her two phones, and a bit of change, just in case.

Unable to quench her curiosity with a quick polaroid from her ancient camera she found herself unable to resist the strange building’s siren call and slowly approached it. Her eyes widened when she finally came close enough to the glass shrouded entrance to read the markings painted on the door. It read: “The Huxley Space for Photography.”

The name was familiar to Max, having read it in one of the tour guides her mother had foisted on her. It was one of the few locals that had sounded interesting to her and she had written its name down in her trusty diary—the one her parents knew about. As far as she knew the gallery housed works of each of the big names of contemporary photography. But even more importantly it also was home to a smaller showroom that displayed the works of up-and-coming artists. Which was the main reason she had been interested in visiting the gallery. Seeing the work of those that had managed to get a foot into the exclusive door of the artworld was… inspiring, and maybe a bit intimidating.

Max had hoped to do the same at one time, back when she had received the letter of scholarship from Blackwell. Though those dreams hadn’t worked out that well. She shuddered at the memory of what had transpired.

Pushing the dark thoughts aside she straightened her back and ambled towards the door. The gallery would be as good as any other place to sit and let her nerves calm. And who knew, maybe Warren would be willing to shuttle her home in an hour or two. A drive in the Warren-mobile would beat out wandering the streets for half the afternoon easily.

The photographs lining the white walls of the gallery were both daunting and inspiring at once. Seeing the play of lights and shadows, riots of colours and displays of emotions, captured in moments between time made her fingers itch for her own camera. Her heart and soul yearned to mirror these masters of the craft and try to capture even a fraction of the meaning she found in their images.

She was left intrigued by Peterson’s monochrome snapshots, buoyed by Réhahn’s intense colours, and weighed down by the heavy messages of McCurry’s imagery. But most of all she was captured by the intense displays of emotions that Mark Jefferson managed to immortalise on photo paper.

It was a shame that her year under his tutelage was cut short, she could have learned so much from him.

After a while of wandering the halls she sat down in front of a large photograph captured by Annie Leibovitz. The subject was a tall woman clad in a tight dress ending in a billowing mass of fabric that framed her feet. Her surroundings, the interior of an opera house or some such, was a swirl of golds and yellows that drew the eyes of the observer to the woman up front.

The figure reminded her of Victoria, a girl she had met in her month spent at Blackwell. Though even that short amount of time was more than enough for her to learn to fear the young woman and the sharp barbs she freely passed out to anyone not part of the Vortex Club.

The sound of a door opening jolted Max from her thoughts and she quickly turned her head. Intense blue eyes fell on a white door a bit down the hall and the woman that slowly backed out of it. A few faint words were exchanged between her and someone in the room before she quietly closed the door and turned down the hall.

Seeing the face of the woman clearly for the first time, Max gasped and quickly turned away. As she stared at the large photograph across from her, she wondered what she had done to deserve a run in with the woman the photo had reminded her of.

She hadn’t even known that Victoria was in LA.

The thick carpet muffled Victoria’s bumbling steps so well that Max had a hard time at pinpointing her position. Not wanting to get caught off guard by the often vicious woman she risked a peek. What she saw startled her. Victoria looked defeated, a look that just didn’t want to mesh with her memory of the woman. For a moment she even wondered if she mistook the woman for someone else. But even in this downtrodden state there was no mistaking Victoria Chase. Even if her head almost vanished between her shoulders and her feet plodded along sluggishly in their elegant, low heels.

Victoria slumped down next to her on the low, leather-clad bench with an impressive sigh. The professional, black portfolio Victoria had pressed to her chest slipped her limp fingers until it came to a sliding stop against Max’s side. The edges of grayscale photos peeked from between the pages from where they came loose because of the rough handling.

However, Victoria didn’t seem to care.

Instead, she dropped her head into her hands, elbows propped up on her modestly folded legs. Her shoulders shook as a few silent tears stained her charcoal grey pencil skirt.

She could just slip away, Max realised. It didn’t seem like Victoria had recognised her. She could avoid this, go home and be done with this day. She had saved enough people. Or would, in the near future. Muscles tensed in anticipation, but just before she could convince herself to leave, she took another glance at Victoria and deflated.

Images of another girl suffering in silent pain flitted through her head, startled from dark recesses by the deep indents of Victoria’s nails scattered along her hairline.

Max’s lips lost their healthy colour from the incessant pressure of her teeth. Red surged back as she timidly extended her hand, stopping a few centimetres shy of the crying woman.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, scolding herself as soon as the words had left her lips. Of course she wasn’t, you didn’t cry when you were okay. The fingers of her right hand twitched, but she refrained from rewinding. No better question was forthcoming.

The silent sobs wracking Victoria’s shoulders paused and her back straightened. She took a moment to surreptitiously wipe her teary eyes on the sleeve of her blouse, then turned her head and offered an unconvincing smile.

Max’s eyes caught on the black streaks on cream coloured fabric, the last vestiges of Victoria’s subdued makeup.

Pale fingers wrapped around the cuff, bunching the fabric until the marks vanished between silky folds.

“Yeah,” Victoria paused, scowling at the way her voice broke, “it has been a… stressful few days. Years, really.”

Max wasn’t sure if she had heard Victoria correctly, as the last part of her words were barely more than the play of lips. She twisted a bit closer. Her eyes fell on her still outstretched arm, which she pulled back, disguising the dorky movement as a brush of her bangs.

Victoria squinted at her for a long moment, then asked, “Have we met?”

Familiar words, that lacked all the bite of the past. But even without any visible signs of aggression a part of Max recoiled, leaving her wanting for nothing more than just to undo this entire encounter. Though, a stronger part prevailed, admonishing her for the mere thought in a voice that was oddly similar to Kate’s.

So, Max met Victoria’s eyes and answered with a jerky nod. “Yes, we have. I’m Max, Max Caulfield. From Blackwell?” Her voice rose at the end as she unconsciously turned her statement into a question. As if she didn’t have the right to claim Blackwell as her own, having only spent a month there.

Confusion clouded Victoria’s green eyes for a moment, then they lit up with recognition. A wide range of emotions played over her face in rapid succession. They appeared and disappeared far too fast for Max to discern any one of them but the faint sense of sadness that won over all others in the end.

She didn’t like how it weighed on the faint smile gracing Victoria’s lips. Its presence felt wrong, blasphemous, as if a painter had retouched an old canvas and changed it in the process. Her eyes flitted away and settled on the photograph in front of her and the woman that stood tall front and centre. Her brow rippled in thought; that was the Victoria she remembered.

“Maxine!” Victoria exclaimed, pulling her back to the conversation, “I remember you and that droll instant camera you carried around all the time.”

Max could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes and steeled herself for what was coming. She had known that this was a mistake, it always was.

“Oh, I’m sorry! It’s Max, never Maxine, right?” The words sounded strange, rehearsed almost, though that did nothing to lessen their effect on Max. Her eyes grew wide and she raised her head, taking in the sincere look on Victoria’s face.

She wouldn’t have thought Victoria would remember. She had said it a few times that first week, at least once each new class, but she hadn’t thought Victoria would deign to remember it. Not when she had made it so obvious that she thought Max to be well beneath her station.

She could only nod in response. Luckily, that was all Victoria needed.

“Good. I uh…” Victoria looked to the side, some of her sudden burst of happiness washing away. “I owe you an apology.”

Confusion and the distinct sense of having missed something important settled over Max. She eyed Victoria suspiciously as she searched for something to say to that. Her throat bobbed awkwardly as she swallowed her first words, drowning them before they could slip into the open. There was no need to be antagonistic. But before she could think of something more appropriate then: “Yes, you do!” Victoria spoke again.

“I was a right bitch to you.” She folded her hands in her lap, her downcast eyes clouded by memories. “I’d like to say that I had a good reason… But the truth is: I didn’t. I just felt threatened by you.” Her pupils flicked to the corners of her eyes and met Max’s for a brief moment before they fled to the polished marble visible around the edges of the carpeting.

“You had so much raw, natural talent and the adoration of Mister Jefferson…” Victoria sighed, then shook her head, “but that doesn’t matter.” Clothes rustled as she twisted around, facing Max head-on, focusing her with a stare that held so much unguarded sincerity that Max wished she could just vanish on the spot.

Her hand tingled.

She bit down on the desire and braced herself. Words crept to the forefront of her thoughts, fragments of a conversation she once had with Kate. They had talked about apologies, honest apologies, and how Kate could forgive so easily. Back then, with the image of Kate on that roof so fresh and painful in her memory, she had had a hard time understanding her friend. When she had asked, Kate had told her that forgiveness was hers to give, if and when she pleased. That it didn’t hinge on an apology. She also said that a sincere apology often meant more to the person saying it then to the one receiving it. She hadn’t believed it back then.

Now, with Victoria sitting next to her, face stained with tears and smudged make-up she finally understood.

She hadn’t thought about Victoria in over a year. Victoria was a tiny part of her life, not worth a single sentence in her biography. Unconsciously, she had forgiven her a long while ago. Otherwise, she would have held onto the anger and hurt.

“I want you to know I’m sorry for what I said to you. You were nothing but nice and I just hurt you because I could.”

“I accept your apology.” Max said honestly, “thank you.” She added, feeling like it was the appropriate thing to do.

“Uhm… Good.”

They sat next to each other for a long few seconds as an awkward silence fell over them. After a while Max couldn’t take the forlorn expression on Victoria’s face any longer and looked for something to break the mood.

Her eyes fell on the portfolio resting against her hip. She tapped a short nail against it.

“So… Is this yours?” She cringed, stupid question, and flung out her hand. Time twisted and heaved, then flowed normally.

“Did they like your portfolio? I never got a good look at it, but I remember some awesome images that you handed in for class projects.”

Victoria glanced down at the sleek, black photobook and gave off an unladylike snort.

“They hated it,” the blunt words shocked Max, but not as much as the look of utter disgust in Victoria’s eyes, “and they are right. It’s shit.”

It was then that she belatedly remembered that Victoria had started to cry before the apology. She rolled her eyes at herself and prepared for another rewind—the fifth of the day—but paused when Victoria continued. “I knew I wasn’t ready. But my parents know the owners and got it into their heads that I’d be exhibited in a place of honour in the new extension of the up-and-comers hall.” She shook her head and added in a soft tone of voice, “they’ll be so disappointed, if they remember.”

“Uhm…”

“What about you,” Victoria asked, rounding on Max, “are any of those yours?”

Max followed her extended arm, only for her eyes to come to rest against an empty wall. She eyed Victoria confusedly, then realised what she probably meant. “Ah, no!” She hastily said. “I ah… haven’t taken a lot of pictures recently.”

“What? Why?” The honest shock in Victoria’s words confused her. She knew that the apology had been genuine, but she hadn’t thought that Victoria cared beyond that.

“I just haven’t felt like taking pictures for a while.”

“Since when?” A look of suspicion appeared on Victoria’s face, pulling her eyes into thin slits.

“Uhm... Since Blackwell.” Max admitted. “I’ve got a lot of schoolwork and stuff. I didn’t have the time.”

“Bullshit!” Victoria spat hotly, and for a moment Max yearned for her camera. The angry outburst cast such a magnificent contrast on her prim and proper clothes that it was visible beyond words. At that moment, an imperial air surrounded Victoria and to Max it felt like she stood before a queen. One that was grief-stricken, but unbroken.

She just knew that she could have framed Victoria’s glory perfectly.

The moment was lost all too soon as Victoria continued, less angry but no less insistent. “You never invested much time into your assignments. You just strolled through Arcadia Bay and got one good shot after the other. That was one of the reasons why I was jealous of you.” Her voice caught audible on the next syllable, but Victoria didn’t let that stop her and forged on. “It’s because of what Nathan did, isn’t it?” Something in her back gave out and she collapsed in on herself, as if thoughts of her friend held a physical weight to them.

Max pawed at her elbow as she felt completely out of her depth. Victoria had been perfectly on point. The thought of all the horrible things Nathan had done in the pursuit of his perfect shot—whatever that meant—made her still shudder. Nor could she forget the recording that had almost cost Kate her life.

She stole a quick glance at Victoria. The grip on her elbow tightened.

But she couldn’t very well tell Victoria that her friend had all but killed her passion for photography. That a cold, sick feeling crept through her bones and paralyzed her on the spot every time she was about to press down on the release. It would be an unkind thing to do, especially after her apology. So, she pried her fingers off her bony elbow and forced a blasé smile to take the place of her frown.

It probably wasn’t very convincing. But it was the best she could manage for now.

“Eh,” she said with a flick of her fingers, trying to make it sound as offhand as possible, “after Blackwell shut down, I had to go back to school in Seattle. However, it took awhile for the paperwork to go through. So, by the time I was allowed back on school grounds I had a lot of catching up to do.” Her words were true enough. It had taken two weeks until they had rubber stamped her papers. And they had almost made her retake the year. Only the transferred credits from Blackwell had prevented that travesty from happening. The mere prospect of it had chilled her to the bone, it would have been a lonely year, if they had pushed her into a different class.

“I just didn’t have the time to think about taking pictures.” Max ended lamely, repeating the argument from earlier.

Victoria pressed the balls of her hands against her eyes and sighed, then she regarded Max with thinly veiled disbelief. Max squirmed under her piercing gaze, fretting internally about the ensuing argument. Thoughts flitted through her head as she wondered if there was a way to change the direction of their conversation without undoing it in its entirety.

“So, what brings you here, then?” Victoria asked and brought Max’s racing thoughts to a screeching halt. From her short experience dealing with the girl besides her she knew that Victoria usually was like a dog with a bone when she smelled something buried below the façade of words. For her to change the subject so willingly… was strange.

Still though, Max quickly took the offered hand, even if it was out of character for Victoria.

“I’ve read about the gallery in a tour guide,” she said happily, “I wanted to see it for myself.”

Victoria turned her head, looking up and down the hall, then asked, “alone?”

“Yes,” Max nodded and then lowered her voice, “I don’t really like to visit galleries in groups. Most just want to see everything as fast as possible and be done with it. They rarely want to… linger, I guess.” She shrugged.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Victoria answered wryly, “Courtney always just saw the first layer.” A few strands of her pixie cut moved as she shook her head. “Though, she never complained. Just pulled out her phone.”

“Uhm, I can see that?” Her hand was back grasping at her forearm. She felt out of her depth and was unwilling to say something that may insult Victoria’s friend. So, she left it at that.

“You live around here?” Victoria asked after a moment of silence, unperturbed by Max’s short answer.

“No way,” Max chuckled, remembering her thoughts from earlier, “I’m way too poor for this part of the city.” A pair of fingers plucked on the old, nondescript shirt she wore. “See?” It was a particular ratty one she usually didn’t wear anymore outside of the flat she shared with Kate. Though she had decided she’d wear it for the call as she wouldn’t mind throwing it away afterwards.

The corners of Victoria’s lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Have you seen the rich hipsters around here? You’ll fit right in.” The words were free of any bite and were reminiscent of something Victoria would say to Taylor in one of her friendlier moments.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, mirroring the faint smile, “I live a bit beyond the university.”

“That’s quite a distance,” Victoria mused, “how did you get out here?”

“Warren drove me a part of the way. I walked the rest.”

A mild frown drew faint lines on Victoria’s forehead. “Is he going to pick you up?”

Max shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t called him yet. Though, he said that he had some stuff planned for the day. So probably not. But I’ve got some change for the Metro.” She patted the pocket of her pants as if to demonstrate her riches.

“I… I could drive you.” Victoria offered, biting her lower lip, “It isn’t too far off from where I’m heading.” She added as an afterthought.

“I don’t want to put you out.” Max said, raising her hands defensively before her chest.

“You won’t,” Victoria said decidedly and rose from the low bench. She offered a finely manicured hand to Max. Which wavered when Max didn’t take it immediately. “Unless uhm… you want to stay longer, of course.”

Max shook her head and took the proffered hand. A drive with Victoria might not be the most favourable thing she could think of, but it would beat out an arduous trip through the undergrounds by a long shot.

“That would be nice, thank you Victoria.”


	2. A Night's Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other side of the coin.

Rachel Amber sighed and slumped back into her seat. Though her change in posture did little to lessen the tension in her back or the distracting pressure behind her itching eyes. Both had raised their ugly heads a bit after lunch—like usual—and had gained strength ever since. But as annoying as they were, they proved unable to force her away from her work until now, long past the time she usually went home.

Rachel tucked her knees against her chest, embraced her legs with a single arm, and pushed off the edge of her desk with the other. The chair rolled for a scant few feet—barely far enough for her to stretch her long, sinuous legs, if she felt like it—and gave off a pitiful squeal as it grudgingly swivelled around. It stopped a bit short off facing the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room.

Another long, pained sigh fell from her lips. Something in the chair had broken a while ago, grown brittle from the prolonged, constant strain put upon it, until it was completely shattered when Chloe gave it a vigorous whirl.

It wasn’t the same ever since.

Rachel felt for it. She was no stranger to that feeling.

After a few minutes of watching the world beyond the glass dim she shook her head, making her feather earing bounce merrily. She shouldn’t work this long, it made her melodramatic. Decision made, she leaned over the armrest and reached for the keys to lock her computer. She’d finish the last analysis tomorrow. But before she could depress the correct buttons the door flew open and smashed into the wall next to it with enough force to make the magnets sticking to the white boards lining the walls clatter to the floor. 

Rachel didn’t so much as flinch. She just turned her head and pinned the intruder with an accusing glare.

“Are we there yet?” Chloe asked brightly, her voice holding a sing-song like quality to it.

“I was just finishing up.” Rachel said, then eyed the few papers that had fluttered to the floor, covering the broken remains of the cheap, plastic coated magnets that had held them in place. “But that was before you demolished my office.”

Chloe spared the detritus a short glance; her grin didn’t dim a bit. “That was like that when I came in.” Then she made a big production of stepping past the door's threshold.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but wasn’t entirely successful at suppressing her grin at the childish antics of her girlfriend. She placed her feet on the floor and pulled herself upright. A twinge of pain made her groan. It was high time for her to turn her smartwatch’s idle alarm back on. However disrupting it could be. At least then she wouldn’t be a complete wreck at the end of the day.

She was startled from her tired musings by the ringing of her work phone. Her fingers moved for it on their own volition, well used to the familiar motion and before she could stop herself she picked it up.

“Rachel Amber,” she answered the call, to the pained groan coming from Chloe.

“You’re still at your desk?” Matthias asked, sounding surprised. “I thought Chloe would have schlepped you away by now.”

“She tried… But she just had to be dramatic about it, maybe this will teach her a lesson.” Her blond tresses spun through the air as she flicked her head around and blew a raspberry at Chloe.

“Chloe? Learning?” Matthias asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I know.” Rachel agreed, her grin reaching from ear to ear. Chloe just rolled her eyes at Rachel, doing her darndest to look annoyed. But she wasn’t quite able to hide the twitch of her lips.

“But it is as they say. Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” Rachel said, returning her attention to the call. This late she found it surprisingly difficult to concentrate on an entire two, unrelated things. “However much I doubt it happening.”

“Right,” Matthias chuckled, “speaking of which, I was hoping you could check out one last ticket before you leave.”

“Now?”

“I know it’s a bit late. But the damned thing got held up in the queue and was just now bounced up in priority.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel sighed. She really ought to go home. Not only because Chloe was growing more impatient by the minute and looked about ready to carry her off, but because she was about to starve, or fall asleep.

“It’s a bomb threat. Sorry,” Matthias said softly, “and a robbery, I guess.”

Before she could stop it, a loud groan slipped past her lips. A bomb threat. It was way too early in the school year for bomb threats. There probably weren’t any important exams scheduled after only a month off school and even if, the morons were probably still thinking that they were untouchable, that they still had plenty of time to make up a few bad grades.

So, it probably wasn’t some idle threat by a douche who wanted to get out of finals.

“Okay,” Rachel all but moaned into her phone, “shoot it over, I’ll take a quick look.”

“Will do, it’s probably nothing.”

Rachel hummed, “Let’s hope so. Have a nice evening, Matthias.”

“You too, Rachel. And tell Chloe ‘better luck next time’!”

“I think she heard you.” Rachel chuckled, “she’s flipping me off. Ambidextrously.”

Laughter boomed from the speakers a second later, making her flinch involuntarily. Matthias really had some pipes on him.

“Anyway,” she started when the laughter finally died down, “I’d like to get home on this side of the night. So… Bye.”

“B-…” The call ended before the last syllable had fully reached her. Usually she wouldn’t just hang up on someone like that—unless that someone was her dad, but that was a special case—but she felt a tad bit irritated. Bomb threats were always a bit iffy. The line that separated an innocuous prank call from a disturbed person’s threat was often all too narrow, and the cost in case of a mistake all too large.

“Come on in and sit down,” she waved for Chloe to step fully into the room. Her girlfriend made an annoyed noise but followed suit. However, she did so in usual Chloe fashion and sat down on the edge of her desk instead of the chair only a few metres away. The sound of rustling paper set her nerves on edge. Though she refrained from complaining.

Both of them were tired, and Chloe was clearly disappointed. If she said something now, they would fight, and she didn’t have the energy for make-up sex. It would mean a lousy few days.

Instead, she navigated to the ticket system and selected the one that had appeared at the top of her queue.

Hazel eyes roved over the short description; the words she read drew a grimace from her. This looked like a fun one. Leaning forward, she reached for her headset perched on the top edge of her screen and slid it over her ears. A few well-rehearsed keystrokes later the speakers sitting on her ears burst to live.

She ignored the agent’s well-known spiel, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm onto the faux-wood surface of the cheap desk. Why they couldn’t just cut that part out was a mystery to her. Her lips twitched upwards as the greeting finally came to an end. Though the hint of a smile didn’t last for long.

As the first syllables fell from the stranger’s lips her nose wrinkled in distaste. She just hated it when they used something to distort their voice. So much context got lost in translation. She imagined that this was what colour-blindness must feel like if it applied to ears instead of eyes.

Still, though, she didn’t let the unnervingly scratchy tone of the distorted voice gall her for more than the time between heartbeats. There was a reason why she had risen to this position at such a young age, and it wasn’t because she didn’t take her job seriously.

As the person—Rachel couldn’t even guess at their gender—launched into their slightly unhinged diatribe her expression turned graver and graver, until it was left a grimace of heartfelt worry. As the last words rang into silence, she restarted the playback from the top. Her girlfriend sitting on the edge of her table all but forgotten.

After Rachel listened to the call a second, and then a third time, she threw her headset off and dropped her head into her hands. The exhaustion of the day finally getting the better of her. She didn’t react as the flimsy headset clattered to the floor, nor when Chloe slid off the desk and reached for it, or when she hung it from her ancient desk lamp.

She was dead to the world, her thoughts caught in a spiral of words that sounded far too sincere, far too well practiced for her liking. This was no bored student, no spur of the moment thing.

“Fuck,” she finally ground out from between her gritted teeth.

“What was that?” Chloe asked, concern edging her face. Aware of the gravitas of the situation.

“Fuck!” Rachel repeated, using her outside voice this time.

Chloe puckered her lips, allowing for a moment of silence. Perhaps because she had taken notice of the palpable tension clawing at Rachel, or maybe because she was just unsure of her next words. Whatever the reason may be, Rachel felt grateful for the moment of almost solitude and the chance to gather her racing thoughts.

When she finally managed to rein herself in, a slow scowl spread over her face. Born from the knowledge of what she had to do.

She lifted her head just enough to slip one of her hands from under it and used the freed limb to navigate through the menus. Even with only a single hand it took her barely a moment to find the correct page and type out her short message, eagle style. With the message ready she hesitated for a moment. Her eyes flickered to Chloe, a trace of guilt sprouting in her heart. She was loath to send the message, knowing what it would do to their evening plans. And the rest of her team wouldn’t appreciate it either.

However, there was no way around that. So, with a heavy heart, she hit the enter key.

A second later a pair of phones vibrated, breaking the silence that had fallen over the darkening room. Rachel let out a bone-weary sigh and buried her face back into her palms. She needn’t bother looking at her phone, she knew what it said, having written it and all.

Chloe, on the other hand, did not. So, she slid her phone from the inside of her leather jacket and glanced at the screen. A tortured groan dripped from her lips as she recognized the notification for what it was.

An emergency recall.

“Are you shitting me,” Chloe moaned. When Rachel didn’t so much as twitch her head, she turned around and headed for the door. Stepping over the threshold to the office, she flung her head over her shoulder and yelled, “I’ll get us some pizza.”

“Again,” she added under her breath, just loud enough for Rachel to hear.

Rachel didn’t mind her leaving. A bit of greasy food might go a long way to bribe her boss and the rest of her team. It would certainly work on herself.

And until then, a bit of calm before the storm would be deeply appreciated.

“So, you think this ‘Mad Max’ person is serious?” Her boss asked, bare moments after the playback of the call came to an end. Rachel rolled her eyes at the quick question. Anderson might be a wizard around numbers and boring fiscal reports, but when it came to reading people, he was like a fish out of water. Floundering, hard.

Which was why she was harbouring the pet theory that a six-year-old could convincingly lie to him. It made her wonder how he handled the three of them he fathered himself. His wife had to be one hell of a woman.

At least he suffered no illusions about his skill in that field and was quick to admit that others knew better. And, to her pride, others basically meant her.

“Serious?” she raised a blonde eyebrow at him, “of course. I wouldn’t have pulled you away from your kids and wife if I thought it was nothing.” When he offered an apologetic smile in turn, she replaced the accusing look with a weak smile of her own.

“Sorry, I’m a bit tired.” Rachel admitted and slouched back into her chair. “While I haven’t had the time to go over everything Max said with a fine-toothed comb, I’m still convinced that they believed every word they said.” As she spoke her gaze slid off her boss and moved over Jen to Ian, trying to gauge their reaction to the call. She didn’t need to look around at Chloe, who was leaning against the wall next to the flowerpot, doing her best ‘Annoyed Chloe’ impression. Her girlfriend knew well enough not to doubt her.

“But there are clear signs of anxiety.” Ian said. His observation brought some additional energy to her smile. The guy was good, having noticed the waver and sometimes stilted delivery of the mad rant in a single listen. Though, he was still not at her level.

“True, but that is what really cemented it for me.”

“How so?”

“Their speech is basically dripping with tells of their nerves. Patterns, word choices, everything.” She opened her arms in a wide gesture, then put her hands to the desk and leaned forward. “But they are completely missing whenever they make one of their threats.”

That and similar ticks was why she was so good at two lies and a truth. People that were unused to lies often wavered when they had to make one. Their delivery would change and there usually was a pronounced difference in conviction between the truth and the lies.

“The threats are the truth; the rest is the made-up story they want us to believe. The portrayal of madness is false, a weak-ass attempt at setting up a false trail.

Ian hummed thoughtfully. “Possible,” he agreed after a moment.

“What do you make of that strange delivery of his name?” Jen asked, when Ian didn’t speak for a few seconds. “It sounded almost like someone cut two clips together.” Her nose wrinkled. “By someone with little pride.”

Rachel shrugged. “No idea.”

She grimaced internally at how flippant her tone and words made her sound. Perhaps she should have been a little less rash and called the meeting for the next morning. Although, that would have meant that they’d have only a scant few hours to prepare. No matter, it was too late for that anyway. Now she had people to convince.

“I doubt it’s important, though.” She offered, attempting to push the meeting forwards. “We can dissect that bit later, when we have a bit more time to spare.”

“And a few hours of sleep, eh?”

“Is that your nice way of telling me that I look like shit?” She had meant for the words to sound teasing, but from the reaction she garnered they must have come out a bit on the combative side. Even Chloe had winced if she had read the familiar rustling of well-worn leather correctly.

Although, it was a possibility that her stubborn girlfriend had finally surrendered to gravity and sat down on the floor.

“Uhm,” Ian muttered, his roving eyes begging for a way out of the hole he dug for himself. However, he found no solace in either Jen or Chloe.

After an awkward moment Anderson took pity on him and clapped his hands, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room. “So, we established this as a serious threat then?” He asked the group at large.

Rachel took it on herself to answer the question, just about done with the meeting. No, that wasn’t right. She was just about done with this entire day. Maybe even the week. “Yes.”

Anderson nodded happily. Probably proud that he managed to defuse a situation that had actual people involved.

She felt bad for the scathing thought as soon as it fully formed.

“Okay then,” he added. Even his voice sounded happy. Her head dropped into her hands; her face hidden behind a curtain of luscious amber hair. It probably looked a bit rude, but it was still better than showing the roll of her eyes, or the snicker coming from her girlfriend.

“We have a bomb at an unknown location and a bank robbery.” He ignored their antics without pause or any other outward sign that he had noticed it and just cruised on. “What are we going to do about it? Any suggestions?”

“The bank robbery seems straightforward.” Ian said, “We’ll just post some agents nearby. Maybe get SWAT involved too. That way we should be able to bag them before they get too far.”

Jen hummed thoughtfully, her brow a mess of deep furrows. “But don’t we risk a shoot out then? The sidewalks will be packed by lunch-goers at that time.”

“Yeah, we should avoid that at all costs.” Anderson agreed, always the timid little bureaucrat. He probably didn’t jaywalk a single time in his life; far too dangerous. Rachel scoffed mentally, then shook her head. Her intrusive thoughts were getting worse.

However, she didn’t have long to worry about the prospect of wrecking her working relationships if this went on much longer, then that moment Chloe spoke up. Her words breaking the pensive silence that had fallen over the small meeting room.

“How about we attach a tracker to their getaway vehicle? I could stroll past once those fuckers stormed the bank. Should be easy enough to blend into the lunch crowd. And that way we can give them a surprise thrashing when they’re back at home with their pants down and dicks in hand.”

Rachel perked up in shock, incredulous at the words she just heard. Did her girlfriend just offer to walk up to a bunch of armed thugs and mess with their car? While one or possibly more were still in it.

The. Fuck.

Slowly, she twisted around, her eyes alight with a blazing anger. She had always suspected—no, known—that Chloe didn’t take danger as seriously as she should. Heck, she had even found it charming at times. But this took the fucking cake!

“Pardon?” She asked, her voice seething with irrational anger.

“Hmm,” Chloe hummed, one eyebrow lifted and only slightly squirming at the heat in her gaze. “What?”

“I must have misheard,” Rachel said hotly, “It almost sounded like my girlfriend just offered to get into the middle of an active crime site.” She tilted her head to the side and painted a dainty smile on her lips that was just a bit too toothy to be meant genuinely. “So that her stupid ass could get shot, repeatedly.”

Even as tired as she was, she must have still retained some of her flair at acting. Considering how quickly the colour had drained from Chloe’s face.

That, or she had regained her senses and had come to the realisation of how dangerous her plan was. Though, Rachel had to admit to herself that the second option was rather unlikely. Chloe had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and usually just became even more set on a course of action if someone tried to reason her out of something.

Rachel sighed as Chloe’s face hardened. It was the first one.

“So what?” She jutted her chin forward in a gesture of defiance. That, in Rachel’s humble opinion, just made her look like a petulant child.

“I’ve got my field certification. I’m combat ready.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Three months of crawling through mud doesn’t make you Rambo.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a calculated risk!”

“Calculated? Since when can you do that?” Rachel spat cattily.

“Uhm, ladies.” Anderson interrupted their brewing fight, emboldened by his earlier success.

The rude interruption was all the provocation the ugly beast at the forefront of her mind needed to rear its head. Rachel snapped her head back to the table, fixed her boss with a predatory smile and all but growled at him. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was an annoying tugging on her ear. She shook her head gruffly but found herself unable to free her blue feather-earring from the tangle of hair. Brusquely, she brushed her hand through her hair and dislodged the strands that had caught on her earring.

With that annoyance out of the way she focused on Anderson. But by then her boss’ sudden onset of bravery had already left him. All that remained was a guy that was basically shaking in his boots from Chloe’s rage alone.

Even in her current state it felt wrong to claw into him.

So, she did the only thing she could and took a long, deep breath. Just like her therapist had shown her. It helped a little.

The relief on Anderson’s face was palpable. It made her feel even worse.

“Chloe’s idea has merit.” He said carefully, eying her like one would a hungry tiger. “Though maybe SWAT has someone with a bit more experience. No offense, Chloe. But Rachel is right. There are better places to start out than the middle of an armed bank robbery.”

Her girlfriend let out a scoffing sound, but to her relief didn’t try to fight her boss on this.

“But if they don’t have anyone that can do it, you’ll be next in line!”

And he ruined it.

“With that settled, what about the bomb?” Jen asked quickly. She must have sensed the storm clouds gathering over Rachel’s head.

“I guess we can discuss that tomorrow.” Anderson answered, eying her suspiciously. “After a good night’s rest we will be in a far better place to solve this riddle.”

The assembled agents were quick to agree with this notion, nodding their heads along to his words.

Ian let out a barking laugh that grated on Rachel’s nerves. “Maybe we’ll luck out and catch this guy tomorrow.” Rolling her eyes, she gathered the few things she had brought with her to the meeting room—her phone and a slim notebook—and rose from her seat.

“That is highly unlikely Ian,” she scoffed, ignoring his affronted look. “I told you, the madness is just a charade. A bad one at that. Mad Max isn’t stupid, they’ll keep far away from the robbery tomorrow. It’s just an appetizer to wet our appetite, the main course is the bomb on Friday.” By the time she had spoken those words, the gathered items had vanished into the pockets of her light jacket and she was in the process of putting it on.

She paused after slipping one arm into the denim sleeves and looked up, meeting his eyes. “And for the love of God, could you please stop presuming that it’s a guy? There is not a single shred of evidence that would point to it!”

Rachel held his gaze until he looked to the side. “Good,” she nodded her head and finished donning her denim jacket.

“Night,” she muttered over her shoulder and trudged out of the room, Chloe in tow. A tense silence hung between them in the air and no words were exchanged on their short trip down to the parking garage. As they stepped out of the elevator a shiver wracked her body. The thin fabric had been a poor choice for this day. Even during the day, it had barely kept the autumn’s cold at bay, but now, in the middle of the night it felt as thin as tissue paper.

She wrapped her arms around herself and gritted her teeth to stop herself from chattering.

Her eyes fell on the lonely junker car quietly rusting away a few parking spots down the lane. The curses that flit through her head at the sight almost spilt from her lips, only the cold freezing her teeth together prevented her from doing it.

The clunker had been romantic at a point. Their getaway vehicle. The means to lay their individual demons to rest. But now, with both of them working for the FBI she just couldn’t fathom why Chloe insisted on keeping the rust bucket—and its malfunctioning heater.

At that moment, something warm slipped over her shoulders and the smell of cheap smokes, old leather and a trace amount of weed enveloped her. She glanced back at her girlfriend, who had—so very gallantly—offered to freeze in her stead and let a faint smile bloom on her face.

Maybe the car wasn’t that bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably take a bit longer. I just wanted to present the other side soonish.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written anything in a while. Trying to get back into the groove. -> Updates won't come at a crazy fast pace. Still got some other things to continue.


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